


Make Me Yours

by kait_lain919



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Come as Lube, M/M, Male Slash, PWP, Public Sex, Rimming, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1838674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kait_lain919/pseuds/kait_lain919
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is always in control, always in charge. Tonight is a different story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Yours

            Oh, fuck. John knows what that look means, he’s seen it before. Sherlock is in one of his moods. If it were any other day, he would be ecstatic, but today he is tired, and he just wants to go to bed. Judging by the look in those gray-green eyes, sleep is but a wistful hope tonight.

            “John.” Sherlock’s voice was deep, already husky with lust and anticipation.

            “Sherlock.” He said it hesitantly, knowing that Sherlock wouldn’t care if he was tired, wouldn’t care that he didn’t particularly want to do anything other than sit down with some tea and a book. How fucked was he that the idea of Sherlock’s utterly selfish desire had him half hard already?

            “You know what I want, John. Will you give it to me?” Sherlock had somehow materialized at John’s side, his lean body pressed against John’s arm so that he could feel the heat of Sherlock’s erection against the back of his hand while the taller man whispered in his ear. The breath on his neck sent sparks to the tips of his fingers and he felt his cock jump in response. How could he say no?

            “Of course, you know I will. The usual?” He tried to feign casualty, but the tremor in his voice belied his arousal and anticipation. He could feel the flush creep up his face. The extent of his own depravity still embarrassed him, though it was obvious that Sherlock loved it and it wasn’t as if the two of them didn’t have an excellent time delving into the depths of what they were capable of…

            “Not tonight. I thought we’d try something new. Can I trust you?” Sherlock’s words vibrated against John’s pulse as Sherlock kissed his way down John’s neck, planting fluttery, moist, open-mouthed kisses between each word. John stood stock-still and tried not to let on how very much he wanted to try something new.

            “Yes. Tell me what you want.” John wasn’t normally demanding, not with Sherlock, but something about the way Sherlock was acting made him feel that it was the right thing to do. He’d wanted, badly, to take control, to see Sherlock beg, but had held back. He knew Sherlock’s history, but he’d asked if he could trust John, and he was acting like a kitten. Could he really be ready?

            “I want you to take me. Please. I want to make you happy. I want to give myself to you.” John was surprised by the change in tone when Sherlock made his request. The deep, husky bass of his voice seemed broken, unsure. Was he scared, or was this part of some act he thought John wanted? For the first time since he walked in the door, John placed his hands on Sherlock. He wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s thin waist, and placed his other hand along the sharp edge of his jaw. Gently, he tilted the other man’s face toward him, and what he saw made his breath catch in his chest. The raw emotion in Sherlock’s eyes turned them from simply mysterious to something akin to the sea in a raging squall, their multitude of colors thrashing and churning with uncertainty that broke John’s heart.

            “Sherlock. Are you sure you want this? You know how badly I want to take you, but only if you’re sure…” the quiet husk of John’s voice sighed through the unruly curls on Sherlock’s bowed head, and it was as if a switch had flipped. As if those words were the key to his certainty, Sherlock inhaled long and deep before looking square into John’s hopeful, understanding eyes and nodding.

            “I want you to take me. Make me yours, please.” Hearing his haughty, confident, independent, and all too often callous detective say those words in that breathy little voice was all it took to bring John to full attention. Warm blue eyes stared into cool gray-green for a long minute, searching, before John pivoted, bringing Sherlock’s body into full-frontal contact with his, crushing their pelvises together with one arm and pinning Sherlock’s mouth to his with the other hand fisted in those silky curls. The sound Sherlock made was some sadistic mixture of moan and pure animalistic pleasure, and John growled as he devoured the soft bow of Sherlock’s upper lip.

            They broke apart, Sherlock’s chest heaving and his trembling hands clinging to the back of John’s shirt as they pressed their foreheads together. “Bedroom. Now.” John bit the words out, barely able to think past the aching in his cock and the roaring of his brain screaming for Sherlock. They stumbled through the flat, shedding clothes as they went, finally landing in a naked, tangled heap on the bed. John stared in wonder at the flush of Sherlock’s skin, how delicately pink his cheeks, his chest, even his arms and legs were. Shining eyes flicked over John’s face, pupils wide pools of liquid lust threatening to drown him. He let out a shaky breath and ran his hands from the top of Sherlock’s head, through the tumble of curls and over the slight roughness of stubble on his jaw, down both sides of his neck. His square fingers looked oddly right as they caressed the elegant shoulders, swept over the tight pink nubs of Sherlock’s nipples, and played lightly over the trembling muscles of his stomach. John chose to ignore the insistent bobbing of Sherlock’s swollen cock, swaying proud and pink above the close cropped thatch of dark curls at his groin. A tiny groan escaped from between Sherlock’s parted lips as John’s hands continued downward, memorizing the feeling of quadriceps and calves and the sensitive arch of slender feet.

            “Please, John. Please.” Sherlock wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, but he knew he’d never needed anything like he needed John in this moment. He was sure he would explode; didn’t know how he hadn’t already as John languidly moved back up his body, still determinedly ignoring his throbbing, aching cock in favor of the sweet torment of his tongue on one stiff nipple. At the sound of his voice, John rolled Sherlock’s nipple between his teeth, eliciting a sharp hiss and a rolling of hips from the man beneath him. The taste of heated skin was sublime, intoxicating—salty sweat and some undefined element that was purely Sherlock combined to drive John dangerously close to the edge. They’d barely begun and Sherlock was already writhing and panting, and John could tell that Sherlock wanted badly to fist his own cock until cum spilled over his hands. At that image, John let out a moan and bit the sensitive skin over Sherlock’s ribcage, marking him and making the other man shudder.

            “Fuck, Sherlock. Do you know how gorgeous you are? You’re squirming around on the bed like a fucking slut, you’re practically begging for it. What do you think, Sherlock? Should I make you beg like the little slut you are?” John’s voice was barely more than a guttural growl in his throat, and his hands tightened on Sherlock’s hips as he slid up the bed to stare into pleasure-glazed eyes. Sherlock’s gaze locked onto John’s, and he flicked his tongue over lips red and swollen from his own teeth biting down.

            Sherlock dragged in a shaky breath and forced himself to speak. “Please, John. Please fuck me. I need your mouth, I need your cock. I want to feel you inside me. I need it. God, John. Fuck. Please.” His voice was so taut, so agonized, that John had to close his eyes against the wave of need that pulsed through his body, making his already impossibly swollen cock even harder. He'd waited and waited to hear these words, and he would have Sherlock sobbing for him before this night was through.

            A wicked smile bloomed on John’s face as he oh-so-gently brushed his lips across Sherlock’s cheek. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll take care of you. You won’t even know your own name when I’m done with you.” Sherlock’s eyes went wide at that, and before he could react any further, John’s mouth had engulfed his throbbing cock to the base. Sherlock choked, air and saliva catching in his throat as John pulled off him, wet and slow, only to run his tongue from the nest of curls at the base of his cock to the tip, swirling a bit at the frenulum and tracing the tip of his tongue around the base of his head, under the foreskin. John could feel Sherlock thrusting his hips ever so slightly, his hands fisting in the sheets and his head rolling back and forth as John kept up the teasing licks. He steadied the base of Sherlock’s cock, thicker than you’d think, but still long and slender like the man it belonged to, and began to place sucking kisses up the sides of his shaft. Sherlock made the most wonderful noises at that, little pants and moans turning into guttural cries until he couldn’t take the torment.

            “John! God, fuck, please, John! Fuck. Fuck John. Feels so good. Please. Fuck. Fuck me. Please god John John John please fucking put it in your mouth please GOD JOHN FUCK PLEASE…” By the time he was through, Sherlock was screaming. John licked one broad, wet stripe up the underside of his cock, drawing out an incoherent roar from his lover, before finally wrapping his lips around the head of the gorgeous cock in front of him and giving one strong suck. The noise Sherlock made was inhuman, and his hands moved from the bed to John’s head, pressing down as his hips bucked up in a desperate attempt to make John take more into his mouth. John immediately stopped sucking. “JOHN please don’t stop fuck feels so good need it fuck fuck fuck shit please please please…” John simply looked at Sherlock, who managed to focus long enough to realize that John would not continue until he moved his hands back to the bed. Sherlock slumped, allowing his hands to fall from the golden spikes of John’s hair, and John engulfed Sherlock to the root this time, his nose brushing silky hair and inhaling the musk of arousal. He worked Sherlock with his mouth, pumping him in and out, alternating sucking and a swirling of his tongue that caused Sherlock to jump and wriggle. He tugged at his heavy ball sack, rolling testicles between his fingers and palm as he lavished attention on Sherlock’s cock. When he could feel the tightening that meant Sherlock was about to come, he popped off and gave him two strong, firm strokes before cupping his hand and catching as much of his seed as he could.

Sherlock sank into the bed, his entire body like hot wax melting to the shape of its dish. He smiled, and looked around to find John. His mouth fell open when he saw John take the handful of ejaculate and smear it over his own cock, coating the entire length in a slick, shiny layer of Sherlock’s fluids. As Sherlock looked on in amazement, John pumped his thick, angry purple cock into his own fist, slick and sliding through the other man’s semen. “Roll over.” John made the command to Sherlock, never questioning whether it would be followed. Sherlock rolled so that he was on his stomach, ass slightly raised, before turning his head to look at John once more.

John brought the hand that wasn’t busy on his cock to Sherlock’s ass and gave it a firm smack. Sherlock jumped, but presented himself for another immediately. John gave him a predatory smile before scraping some of Sherlock’s seed off his palm and rubbing it over the exposed pucker of Sherlock’s asshole. Sherlock jumped, and marveled at the feeling of his own fluids sliding around in his cleft, lubricating his own hole. John leaned over and spat directly onto the twitching pucker, adding his saliva to the slick mess already there. Slowly, John’s finger circled the sphincter, urging it to relax. Sherlock moaned, feeling his hole open for John and a single finger slipping inside. John continued to slowly fuck Sherlock with his finger to the same rhythm he was fucking his own fist, twisting slightly and delving deeper with each thrust until his entire finger was sheathed inside Sherlock’s center. “You have such a beautiful ass, love. I can see my finger inside you, and I know you love it. You just came and now you’re wishing for more because you love the way I fuck your hole with my finger. Tell me you want another one. Tell me you want more.” John kept up the rhythm of his thrusts as he talked, twisting and brushing Sherlock’s prostate just to feel him clench around the base of his finger.

“More, John. Please. I need more. I need you to fuck me. I want your cock inside me.” Sherlock was quiet, desperate, even though he’d only just come. John obliged him, a bit. He eased another finger in beside the first, stretching and wriggling them while he watched Sherlock start to fuck back onto his hand. He leaned forward and spit again, ensuring things were slick enough and thoroughly enjoying the thought of his spit mixing with Sherlock’s fluids around his fingers. Finally, after a third finger and the sight of Sherlock wantonly rocking on him had nearly driven him mad, John pulled his fingers out with a soft squelching noise. Sherlock moaned audibly at the loss, but John was quickly lining his cock up with the entrance to Sherlock’s ass, pressing the leaking slit against the gaping hole and gently circling before slowly pushing forward. Sherlock stretched around him, and the tight heat was indescribable. John sank in to the hilt, relishing the feel of Sherlock’s perfect cheeks flush against his hips, the hair above his cock rubbing against sweat-slick skin and creating delicious friction. Sherlock rocked backward once again, silently urging John to move, but John stayed buried deep, rotating his hips so that he moved inside without pulling out. Sherlock gave a grunting shout, and John smiled in anticipation as he grabbed for Sherlock’s hips.

He leaned forward and, just before he began to thrust, John said, “I am going to fuck you now. You will let me, and you will not make a single sound. If I hear even one tiny peep, you will be punished. Do you understand?” Sherlock stared, wide-eyed, before nodding carefully. “Good.” John said it with a snarl as he pulled out of the slick channel and thrust back in, strong and smooth. He kept up a steady pace, occasionally landing a smack onto Sherlock’s cheeks and making him jump. He could see Sherlock reach underneath himself, and found that the other man was already hard again, and apparently trying to make himself more comfortable. John fisted a hand in Sherlock’s hair and yanked his head back. “Did I give you permission to touch yourself, slut?” Sherlock shook his head, and John watched as his tongue wet those full lips one more time. Sherlock splayed his hands on the bed, away from his own cock, and let John set the pace. The longer they fucked the harder John thrust, until the pace was frenetic and it was a miracle Sherlock wasn’t hurt at all. Finally, Sherlock felt John’s body tauten, and then felt the pulse of his cock as John shot his load into Sherlock’s ass. When John was finished, Sherlock went to roll over but was stopped by a palm on his back. “Stay.”

Sherlock looked around, watched as John took out a large locked box from under his bed. From his vantage point, Sherlock couldn’t see what was in the box, but soon enough John pulled out what was unmistakably a rather large anal plug. Sherlock gaped at him.

John walked to where Sherlock was still spread open for him, a small amount of cum beginning to drip from his hole. John used a finger to wipe it up, and let Sherlock see him lick it off, a combination of John’s spit and both of their semen. Sherlock shuddered, and waited in anticipation of what would happen next. John simply smiled before pressing the plug to Sherlock’s waiting entrance, pushing it in until it was snug and secure inside him. Sherlock sent John a questioning look.

“Come on, Sherlock, I’m starving. Let’s go get some dinner,” John said rather nonchalantly as he ducked into the bathroom to get a wet towel to clean up. Sherlock looked confused.

“But, John… what about the plug? Why did you put it in if it was just going to come right back out?” The confusion was clear on Sherlock’s face.

“Oh, Sherlock. That plug is not going anywhere.”

“…but you just said we should go get dinner.”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“…you want me to go out in public with a butt plug in my ass?!” Sherlock’s eyes widened as he came to this realization. He thought about the situation. He was hard as a rock, cock throbbing, and he was full of spit and cum held in with a large, black piece of silicone. And John wanted him to go out like this?

“Oh, yes. I want to parade you down the streets of London all the while you know that my come is in your ass, and the plug brushes up on your prostate and makes you ache with the need for release. I want you to feel the stretch and rub of that plug while we sit in a plastic booth, and I want you to feel it shift in you as we walk. I want to see people we know and have a conversation with them while you clamp your little sphincter around the base of that toy and hold on to it for dear life because you miss the way I fill you up and that toy is just not good enough. Do you understand?” Sherlock’s wide eyes flicked over John’s face as he talked, observing and coming to the conclusion that no, John was not kidding, and yes, Sherlock would in fact be going out into the world with his ass full of John’s come. The idea made his cock twitch, and he was so very aroused that he shuddered with it.

“Yes, John. I understand.” The reply was quiet, and the pleasure behind it was evident. John smiled in satisfaction, taking in the sight of Sherlock still on hands and knees, cock pulsing thickly beneath him as the thick black plug twitched ever so slightly in his cleft. He then bounced off the bed and began to dress, slipping something into his pocket before Sherlock carefully maneuvered himself off the bed and began the interesting task of dressing with something in his ass.

They left the flat and were halfway to Angelo’s when Sherlock stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. John cocked his head at him, a silent question.

“John… does this plug… _vibrate_?” Sherlock was tense, his face a mask of pleasure and mortification.

“Oh, did I fail to mention that bit?” John’s face split into a Cheshire grin as he tossed a small black remote and caught it before slipping it back in his pocket. Sherlock could only stare.

They managed dinner at Angelo’s with only a few awkward moments. John cranked up the vibration settings just as Sherlock was trying to ask for more wine, causing Angelo to raise an eyebrow as he walked away. John shook with silent laughter even as his eyes flashed with heat, knowing exactly what state Sherlock was in just across the table. He carefully adjusted himself to a more comfortable position, as his jeans had become a bit tight. He leaned across the table toward Sherlock and whispered, “I think I need a quick trip to the loo.”

Sherlock looked at him blankly for several seconds before the full implication of that statement sunk it. Once realization struck, the heat in his eyes was nearly blinding as he said, “Oh, god, yes.” The two of them abandoned all sense of subtlety and simply bolted for the bathroom, barely making it inside before they were on each other.

John spun around, slamming Sherlock into the door and tearing at his belt, lips racing over cheeks, brow, lips, neck as Sherlock’s hands fisted in the shoulders of his jacket and he panted hot breath into John’s ear. As he fumbled with the button on Sherlock’s fucking trousers, his cock screaming to be free of his jeans, he raised a bruise over Sherlock’s collarbone in an attempt to get his attention and remind him he could be helping. Sherlock took the hint, his hands dropping to John’s belt and clumsily undoing the buckle. After what seemed like hours of fumbling, Sherlock’s trousers were around his knees and his chest was flush with the bathroom door as John reached between his legs to tug on his balls. Sherlock groaned loudly, sending shivers of need through John and making him abandon his plan to tease Sherlock for just a moment. He needed his cock in Sherlock _now_. John grasped the end of the plug, and Sherlock moaned deep in his chest as the toy slid wetly out of his aching hole. Sherlock practically _mewled_ at John, urging him to replace the inanimate plug with his own hard, warm flesh. John quickly pressed the head of his cock, already leaking precum, to Sherlock’s dripping hole and slid in easily. The sticky wetness of his own cum surrounded John’s cock, kept warm by Sherlock’s body, and he began pumping into Sherlock in earnest, beyond caring who heard them or that they were in public as he clenched his hands onto Sherlock’s hips and yanked him back onto his cock. Sherlock grunted and groaned, his cock aching to be touched, and John understood. He wrapped an arm around Sherlock and fisted his cock, holding it tight and letting Sherlock fuck himself into John’s fist in time with John’s thrusts into the warm wetness of Sherlock’s dripping hole. The two of them rutted like animals, the sounds emanating from them barely recognizable as human, and in barely two minutes John was thrusting as deeply as possible into Sherlock, pumping him full of even more cum as Sherlock’s cock jumped in John’s fist and painted the door with wet stripes. They collapsed onto the wall and each other, breathing like they’d run a marathon, before John pulled out, replacing his cock with the toy once more. Sherlock groaned, and panted, “Must we put it back in? This has been utterly mortifying.”

John chuckled softly against the nape of Sherlock’s neck. “Love, you’re a mess. We must get you home without soiling your trousers, don’t you think? We’ll leave now, and go straight to the shower…”

Sherlock sighed, knowing John was right. He did like the sound of a hot, steamy shower…

The two arranged their clothes the best they could, dropped an exorbitant amount of money on their table as they walked by, and left the restaurant to the sound of tinkling bells and Angelo calling, “But you haven’t even eaten yet!”

They ignored him, their only thought of what they would do when they got back to Baker Street.

 


End file.
